goodmorning, ny
by lafleur
Summary: just starting out, about a girl who wakes up on the upper east side in nyc
1. i am waking up for the first time

A horn sounds below, coming from the street, and she rolls over, sighs. Another horn sounds, followed by sirens and faint shouting. Her brow furrows in sleep and her fingers twitch suddenly as she wakes. Shifting onto her back, her neck elongates and she stretches, feeling warm and content and not noticing the small sense that something is different. Traffic sounds increase and then her body stiffens; why can she hear the cars and people so intently? Her eyes snap open and she gasps silently, gazing at the high ceiling and warm sage-green walls. As her gaze moves downwards she sits up, taking in the expensive overstuffed chairs and perfect pale-wooden desk. The full-length mirror is draped with scarves and hats and necklaces, and the closet is open, hinting at its fullness and the rich treasures within. A beautiful guitar is propped up against the desk, and papers covered in scribble are scattered around on the floor. A chest- of-drawers is tastefully piled with boxes for makeup and jewelry, with another mirror resting on top. Everywhere are colorful books and jewelry, all organized by a firm hand but scattered by a teenager. Every direction yields a feast of clothing, bracelets, makeup, and draping objects for the eyes. A door leads to a yellow bathroom, and the windows are huge, offset by deep window seats, lending gobs of light to the amazingly perfect room.  
She pinches her arm absently then laughs at the cliché as the skin throbs, red and very real. As she rubs the arm her fingers curl under one another and she stops, closing her eyes and taking in a shuddering breath. Then she looks down at the arm and laughs again, in disbelief, at its size. Pulling away the heavy white covers, she leaps out of the black iron bed and runs to the full-length mirror, marveling at her long, thin fingers and arms. Suddenly she reaches the mirror, and as she gazes into it she can't believe what she sees.  
A stunningly gorgeous girl looks back at her. Around 16 years old, the beauty's hair tumbles, burnished gold, into wavy locks around her shoulders. Large eyes widen, displaying their irregular jewel-toned azure and turquoise shading. She wrinkles the long, straight nose and light freckles dotting the smooth, pearly skin scrunch together as her golden brows crease. Her body is tanned, strong, and slim, with swanlike, slender limbs. Long legs with shapely calves finish the picture, as her wide mouth opens, then hangs in disbelief. She fingers the hair with trembling fingers, noticing its length (so much longer than it was before), when she suddenly sees a bright blur in the mirror. Turning around to make sure, she quickly crosses to a tall window, catching sight of the back of a lemon- yellow taxi. Then her nose presses against the spotless window as she takes in the scenes on the street.  
She looks down three stories, peering past ivy-covered red brick, to the tree-lined street. Across the way, neutral-colored and brick-covered town-houses nestle against the street. Their clean stoops wait, impressive and forbidding, behind black gates. Dark, expensive sedans and small, sleek convertibles line the dark-paved street. A tall woman in designer work-out clothes walks a dog on a Burberry leash. A young man speeds past on a vermillion Vespa, and taxis dart through the lazy traffic like tropical fish. Her eyes drift upwards and her shoulders drop as she realizes the tall buildings are close, and continue up up up for many stories. Fifth Avenue, New York, New York.  
Then her nostrils flare and the scent of pancakes waft into the room. Her lips curve into a slow, toothy smile and she moves towards the closet, searching for a robe. Right behind the door hangs a light, flower-patterned dressing gown and she marvels at its softness as she opens the door to the hallway. Stepping out onto the landing, the deep, bright red walls stun her with their richness. She moves past expensive-looking chairs and tables, glancing at the artwork on the walls, not pretentious in the least. Then upon reaching the stairway, she bites her lip before carefully setting her delicate hand on the oiled wooden banister. She tucks the robe around her slim frame as she descends, the enticing smells intensifying as she moves to the next level, then to the next staircase.  
At the bottom, slightly out of breath, she bites her lip again, searching for the kitchen. She passes through high-ceilinged rooms filled with chairs, tables, paintings, a beautiful grand piano. Then she reaches a narrow corridor, painted in boring off-white tones. Following the smell of bacon, she reaches a gleaming kitchen, composed of high ceilings, dark granite, and a brushed silver stove. Copper pots dangle over the island, large knives nestle in their holders, and a riot of colorful fruits and vegetables spill over the middle of the countertops. A tall, dark-haired woman in a neat suit stands at the stove, cooking something in a frying pan. She turns at the sound of the honey-haired girl, and she smiles, pushing her short hair behind her ears.  
"Well, good morning sunshine!" she chirps, jokingly, and turns around again with the spatula in her hand. She moves the pancakes onto a large plate as the girl's face scrunches in puzzlement.  
"Mom??" she queries, her voice pitched low but squeaking slightly in bewilderment. "What are you doing?" She gestures towards the suit, but the woman turns again, waving the spatula in the air.  
Laughing, she rolls her eyes. "I know, I know, when was the last time I cooked, right? But I decided I would just go in a little later today. What's the point of running your own company if you can't bend the rules a little bit? After all, it is Saturday."  
The girl opened her mouth as if to say something but stopped. "Ok, mom."  
"Hey, Liv."  
"Mom."  
"What are you doing today? Now that you are done with finals and everything. What time is that party you were going to?"  
Liv sucked in her cheeks, pretending to think, then shrugged.  
"Well why don't you call Sam or Keisha. You girls could go to Bendel's, get your makeup done, have lunch. Then tell Dad if you want the car or if you'll take a taxi."  
Liv nodded quickly, and with an "ok, Mom," she sat on a bar-chair at the island and helped herself to a small stack of pancakes, trying not to think about what was going on. Just sit back and enjoy the ride, Liv, she told herself. 


	2. my mind is made up i open my eyes

She set down the fork to finish her orange juice when a petite girl wearing a red jersey bounded into the room. Shifting a soccer ball between her hands, she rolled her neck and shook her leg, then turned to the stove  
"I'm starving. Mom??" she dropped the ball in shock and pretended to stagger to a chair.  
"Very funny," scowled their mother, placing a huge stack of pancakes onto a plate. "Just hurry up and eat, so we can get to your game on time."  
The girl obediently tucked into her plate as Liv suddenly realized who the girl reminded her of.  
"Megahn," she began casually. The girl's eyes flickered her way and Liv's heart jumped as she continued talking to her sister. "Are you still playing goalie?"  
Liv's mom snorted and took away her plate and dumped it into the sink.  
"Yes, since she first started, sweetie. Hasn't changed, yet."  
Liv cleared her throat, and jumped up from the chair. Kissing her mother on the cheek, she made her way through a door, then stopped, confused. She glanced down a cobalt blue hallway, then turned and looked down a vanilla hallway. Cautiously, she made her way down the blue one until she hit a corner with a huge gold mirror and a pink daybed, overflowing with cushions and patterned throws, resulting in a dead end. Wrinkling her nose, Liv turned around and tried the vanilla hallway, landing in a fork with a green room and another red room to choose from. Walking through the red room into another, longer dining room, she finally found a staircase and climbed the two stories until she found her room.  
She walked over to the full-length mirror again and tilted her head and examined her chin. How was it so graceful and yet majestic? Puzzled, she chewed her lip and experienced a strange sensation: she closely resembled Gisele when she did that. She jumped as the cordless phone rang. She dashed to the beautiful desk and found an empty cradle. Moaning with annoyance she threw aside clothes, pillows and throws on the chairs until she spied the silver phone, still ringing merrily. Gasping from the frantic search, she jabbed the TALK button and pressed the phone to her ear.  
"Hello?" she demanded. A girl's voice laughingly answered.  
"Is this a bad time, Liv?" Liv immediately pictured a beautiful girl with freckles and a smiling face.  
"Liv?" the girl repeated. "It's Sam? Liv, babe. What are we doing today?"  
Liv rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes.  
"Sam. What time is the thing tonight?"  
The girl paused. "How are you doing? Are you ok? You sound weird. It starts at 7 but we don't need to show until 8. It's at Kevin's, so we need to look gooood!"  
Liv laughed, in spite of herself, and perked up slightly. She could handle this. "Well, ok, what should we do?"  
"Liv, how about we meet at Victoria's at 12. Let's call Keisha, Mike, Chris, Katie, Lyn and." she paused dramatically and stage-whispered, "Ian!"  
Puzzled, Liv blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Victoria's? But K, Sam, can you call them? I haveta go shower and get ready.  
Sam giggled, "Victoria's café? Where we have met since we could cross the street?" and then she hung up. Liv turned around and almost stepped on a pair of stilettos. She smiled, wondering how anyone could walk in those, and waltzed towards the bathroom. Then she stopped suddenly, realizing she had seen those soft, pink shoes in Vogue. Then she snorted, pushing her way gracefully into the bathroom. Of course they would be Louis Vuitton. 


	3. i can't run every step, it counts these ...

Stepping out of the shower, she swings her long wavy hair to the side and sqeegees it to remove water. The golden highlights streak through her hair, natural and effortlessly earned from being outside. She wraps a huge, fluffy towel around her lithe body and floats in a cloud of flowery shampoo to the half-open closet, flinging it open and stepping aside in astonishment.  
Every conceivable color, texture, and brand of clothing is somewhere in this closet, suspended from hangers or carelessly draped on the comfortable-looking loveseat inside. Liv absentmindely flips a curl out of her eyes and sashays, with a huge grin playing across her lips, into the vast closet.  
First she dives into the drawers, filled to brimming with soft, pretty bras and panties; thin tee-shirts in myriad colors; and scarves, swirled with flowers or patterns or shot with sparkly ribbons. Bigger drawers hold countless pairs of expensive jeans and long trousers. She opens a small cabinet and reaches in, her fingers lightly touching on numerous bags and purses. The hangers support blouses, flimsy dresses, patterned blazers, and practical tops. Everywhere she looks, shoes and belts are draped and shoved into nooks and crannies.  
Liv grabs a bra and panties, choosing the ones with tiny bows on the sides. Breathing through her nose, she resists delving into the tee-shirt drawer and instead pulls out the first thing she sees, a simple white wife- beater with a racing-back. Then she removes a dark-washed pair of seven for all mankind jeans, noticing their frayed bottoms and lovingly creased knees, indicating a favorite pair. The shoes are sparkly pink flip flops, embellished with sequins and rhinestones. Proud of her quick finish and willpower, Liv steps outside the closet and gets dressed, trying to keep her thick wet hair from dripping over the clothes.  
She twists the now-used towel into a turban on her head, and spins over to the mirror and makeup boxes in the bathroom. Staring at herself again, she notices, with a laugh, the complete uselessness of makeup for this face. She curls her eyelashes, applies mascara, and swipes on chapstick, then tilts her chin. Well, that was easy. She resists playing with the innumerable pots of eyeshadow and the gold eyeliner, and ambles over to the sink. Liv removes the towel, draping it carefully over an empty rack, and chooses at random a tube of gel. She scrunches her hair randomly and carelessly, then twists it up behind her head, scrutinizing from all angles the effect on her long neck. The hair drops, and she leaves the bathroom, moving to the window.  
On the way, she grabs a huge silver ring, dangly chandelier earrings, and a big jade necklace from the overflowing bureau. Then, fastening the earrings, she stands at the window, gazing onto the busy street below. Minutes pass, and she suddenly sighs, checking the clock by the bed: 11:47. She shakes out her hair, grabs the courderoy shoulder bag from its spot on the door and pirouettes towards the door, spritzing herself with Chance as she passes the bureau.  
3 flights of stairs later she reaches the door to the street, and pauses, mentally checking herself for keys, money, sunglasses. Running her fingers through her damp hair, she feels light nervous butterflies develop in the pit of her stomach. Shrugging it off, she adjusts the bag, squares her shoulders, and opens the door, her mind already on finding the café to meet Sam. 


End file.
